But I will try.

Busch died yesterday evening, close to 6pm.

We had walked to the neighborhood park.  It has an enclosed playground on one side, some wide lawn, a basketball court, and a boardwalk surrounds the far side, stretching into some swamp area.

Usually there is some touch football in the lawn, or a pick-up game of basketball.  But yesterday all was clear except two families in the playground.

We decided to let Busch off his leash.  He lived a very confined life in the condo.  He never complained about it, loved to be in bed with us or curled up on the sofa.  Nevertheless, he still got very excited at the sign of shoes and keys and leashes and the possibility of more.

We walked the distance of the lawn, with him running into the bushes to look for rabbits.  At the other end, we used the PETS ONLY water fountain.  We laughed because Tom decided to throw away the poo bag mere seconds before Busch decided he had to go again.

We started walking back on the boardwalk – we love to look at the swamp area and how it changes with the rain.  But Busch was very interested in going back the way we came.  We were deciding on letting him have his way (we thought he wanted to roll in swamp mud), when I turned around and saw a rattle snake crawling onto the boardwalk.

I yelled for Busch, then yelled for Tom.

It was too late.

Busch attacked a 5-foot timber rattlesnake and then ran off yelping into the lawn.

Tom ran past me and stomped on the snake’s head.  He yelled at me to get Busch.

I ran to Busch and looked for bite marks.  I saw none, but was sure the yelping wasn’t for show.  I scooped him up and started to run the 1/3 mile back home.

Tom caught up with me and wanted to take a look.  We saw a superficial gash on his bottom jaw.  Tom took the dog and walked to keep him calm while I kept running.

I ran upstairs, grabbed keys, and made an attempt to locate a closer ER vet than the one I knew of.  That failed, so I ran back outside.

Tom was coming up the walk.  I told him to wait.  When we got in the car he said he thought Busch wouldn’t make it.  He had already seized once and Tom had been running since that point.

At the stoplight, I grabbed an empty water bottle and told Tom to perform mouth-to-mouth.

I got on the Interstate and said I was putting my hazards on.  He said it was too late.  He felt a heartbeat with the first two breaths, but it was gone after the last.

It wasn’t until then that Tom noticed the bite marks on the back of his neck.  A human probably would not survive a good dose of venom administered thusly.  It was impossible for a sixteen pound dog.

There was nothing we could have done after the attack, but I’m glad we did what we could.  I know we did not give up on him.

I know I should feel regret that we had taken him off his leash.  But he was having such a wonderful time.  In a rural environment, we might have thought twice.  This was a freak accident.

We are heartbroken and in shock.  For me, I have had to watch many animals go from long illness and old age.  The visceralness of the event haunts me.  At thirty-two, I am still unable to understand that everything can’t be fixed by different, faster, better methods.

The last pictures I have of Busch are from July when we stayed at Tom’s family cabin in Port St. Joe, FL.  I actually didn’t take any pictures while there, and started clicking away on the drive home to try and capture a few memories.

I’m glad I did.

Busch, you helped bring your father and I together.  I hadn’t dated anyone with pets in a long time.  I fell in love with you so hard and fast.  I know you went how you wanted to go, attacking critters.  But I wish you were still here.